


What We May Be

by Zoejoy24



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Abuse, Alpha Gil Arroyo, Alpha John Watkins, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dirty Talk, Face Slapping, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, JizzJazz, Kidnapping, Knotting, Light Bondage, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Name-Calling, Omega Malcolm Bright, Unplanned Pregnancy, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:14:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27633262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoejoy24/pseuds/Zoejoy24
Summary: When Malcolm wakes, wrists heavy with the weight of iron shackles and the chain that runs to a ring in the floor, he knows he's in trouble. He's an omega, lying helpless at the feet of a murderous alpha who he's certain wants to do him harm. He's one, maybe two days away from starting his heat, if that. He'd taken his first round of suppressants that morning, but one round of pills isn't going to be enough to stop his heat from coming.Which means he’ll be an unbounded omega experiencing his first full heat in years, all while in the clutches of a deranged, murderous alpha.---Based on a prompt byEvaagnaway back during the mpreg swap that I have slowly been chipping away at that requested Malcolm getting pregnant with John's child, and the team being there to support him as he struggles to come to terms with it.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright/Paul Lazar | John Watkins
Comments: 14
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

When Malcolm wakes, wrists heavy with the weight of iron shackles and the chain that runs to a ring in the floor, he knows he's in trouble. He gains full awareness slowly, eyes blinking open to dim overhead lighting that does little to illuminate the space where he's being kept. He flops onto his back and the chains rattle, echoing in the empty space. He can't help but cry out for help in a desperate bid that his captor isn't as good at this as he seems to be, and maybe someone will hear.

The only one who hears him is John.

The alpha stalks into the room carrying a well worn canvas duffel full of tools and dropping it to the floor with a thud that Malcolm knows is meant to be intimidating. He watches John closely, trying to read his facial expressions, his body language, his scent. John exudes confidence and self-satisfaction, clearly pleased to have Malcolm at his mercy.

Malcolm swallows down the fear that bubbles up inside of him, trying to remain calm, but he's never felt so vulnerable. He's an omega, lying helpless at the feet of a murderous alpha who he's certain wants to do him harm. He bites back on a whimper when John comes to stand over him, looking down on him with hands on his hips, smirking still. Malcolm fights the urge to bow his head in submission in response to an alpha taking such a dominant position over him.

John says nothing, just circles him slowly, studying him like a predator staring down its prey.

Malcolm clenches his fist, dropping his gaze to stare at the floor as John completes his circuit. As he waits for John to make his move, he reminds himself of the fact that despite being an alpha in his prime, John hasn’t shown an inclination in the past to exert his dominance sexually, as would be typical of an alpha predator with violent tendencies. Of course, the bodies of most of his victims were too mutilated to tell whether or not they'd been sexually assaulted, but the kid they'd pulled out of the trailer had been an omega, and untouched, and nothing in Malcolm's profile seemed to suggest that John's mission led him towards sexual violence.

But.

He's one, maybe two days away from starting his heat, if that. He'd taken his first round of suppressants that morning, the medication meant to ensure his heat passes by practically unnoticed, with a slightly elevated body temperature and some heightened emotions being the only symptoms. But one round of pills isn't going to be enough to stop his heat from coming. Which means he’ll be an unbounded omega experiencing his first full heat in years, all while in the clutches of a deranged, murderous alpha whose plans for Malcolm are anything but good. Whatever John is already planning to do with him isn’t nearly as frightening as the knowledge of what John can do to him while he’s in heat, and it sends a shiver of fear through Malcolm’s body so violent that it makes the chains rattle. His fear doesn’t go unnoticed by his captor.

“Aw, don’t be scared, Malcolm,” John coos, dropping down to a squat in front of him.

Malcolm props himself up on his elbows, eyeing John warily as the alpha taunts him.

“We’re finally going to have some quality time together, just you and I. We have so much to talk about. But not right now. I have some other things to take care of, first. Don’t go anywhere, little omega. I’ll be back for you soon.”

John leaves him there, the bag of tools just out of his reach. There's no escape—from the basement, or from his own thoughts and fears. Malcolm prays, over and over, to whoever is listening, that his team will find him soon. Otherwise, he worries that there won't be much left of the man they knew for them to find.

***

Having been stripped of his watch, Malcolm has no way to track the passing of time, no way to judge how long John leaves him waiting in the basement. With each passing moment spent in silence, his fear and anxiety grow. Malcolm is certain now that John will be able to smell not only his fear, but his approaching heat as soon as he returns. Worse, he fears that, by then, his heat will have begun in earnest. It’s growing stronger with each passing minute, he can tell. He's sweating, despite the chill air, and though for the moment he thinks it’s still due only to stress, he knows that it will increase the strength of his scent in the small, enclosed area, and enhance the potency of the pheromones his body will begin to release all too soon, if it hasn’t already.

The first wave of his heat hits him from out of nowhere, spreading through his body in a sudden surge of _want_ and _warmth_ that’s there and gone again within minutes. He groans in despair, pounding a hand against the cold floor in frustration and anger. After only a few minutes longer he feels almost back to normal, but he knows that won’t last. It’s only going to get worse, and now there’s no way of hiding his heat from John.

Another wave hits him, coursing through him, and then another, each lasting longer, and coming over him faster, until he’s fully immersed in the burning, overwhelming force of nature that is an Omegan heat. Though he tries to fight it he’s unable to resist his own biology and the hormones that are flooding through his body and robbing him of control of his own desires.

Malcolm curls into a ball on his side, knees pressed tightly together and tucked in close to his chest, his face buried in the crook of his elbows as he covers his head with both arms. Everything is too much; the brightness of the lights along the walls, the lingering scents that hang in the air—none of them good, except the alpha’s. _John’s_. He can just barely detect the alpha’s scent where it clings to the bag he’d carried in and hangs in the air, and Malcolm hates how eagerly his body responds to even the slightest hint of an alpha’s presence. He knows when John returns that the scent will be overwhelming, _irresistible_. Malcolm presses his face even more firmly into the crook of his arms, trying to block out as much of the scent as he’s able, sobbing in frustration at the way his own body is betraying him. Already Malcolm is embarrassingly aroused, shivering and whimpering when the intensity of his heat increases suddenly, leaving him aching to be touched and mindless with terror all at once.

He doesn’t hear John come back down the stairs or the door open, but he smells the alpha as soon as he walks into the room, even with his nose pressed firmly into the crook of his elbow. A high, needy whine escapes Malcolm’s mouth before he can stop it, and the surge of lust the alpha’s scent provokes goes coursing through him with a full-body shiver.

“Well,” John breathes, surprise evident in that one simple word, “What have we here?”

He stalks over, scent growing stronger with each step, and Malcolm groans in despair and desperation, shaking his head as tears start to form in his eyes. He…he doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want to spend his first heat in over a decade at the hands of a serial killer. He’s helpless as it is, but he knows soon he’ll be begging John to…to take him, to _claim_ him, and he can’t do anything about it.

“Please, don’t,” he begs, the words muffled by the barrier of his arms.

“What was that, little Malcolm?” John asks, nudging him in the side with the tip of his boot, not quite a kick, but hard enough to hurt, and Malcolm whimpers, curling tighter into himself.

“I don’t want this,” Malcolm groans, louder this time.

“Oh, I think you do. I can smell it on you, how badly you want me. It’s… _mmph_.” John inhales deeply, exhaling with a pleased sigh. “It’s an incredible scent, I have to say. Usually you dirty omega whores don’t interest me, but you, Malcolm. You’ve been given to me for such a time as this, I do believe.”

Malcolm shakes his head weakly, moaning as another wave of heat lust washes over him. This wave brings a new sensation as slick begins to seep from his body, wetting his thighs and releasing even more of the scent of his arousal and need into the air.

“Oh, god,” he whines, fighting the sudden urge to present to John—to roll onto his front and lift his ass in the air and spread his legs wide.

“ _Mmm_ , yes. A gift from God, that’s what you are. This was all meant to be!” John exclaims. “I had plans for you, little Malcolm. Goals. Trials for you to overcome, but this, _this_ is what will truly make you into the man you’re meant to be, a true partner for me and my work. I see it now.” John crouches down in front of Malcolm and runs a hand over his side and back, inhaling deeply once more.

Malcolm whines, legs twitching against each other involuntarily as more slick seeps out of him at the alpha’s touch. John fists a hand in his hair and jerks his head back, twisting so Malcolm is forced to look up and meet John’s gaze. The alpha’s scent fills his nostrils and he barely manages to bite back on a moan.

“Are you ready for me, omega?” John asks, reaching out to run his thumb across Malcolm’s lips, his pupils widening, eyes glazing over as he looks over Malcolm’s body hungrily. “I’m ready for you. I’ve been waiting _so long_ for a sign, for the right one…” he mutters, barely loud enough for Malcolm to make out the words.

The scent of the alpha’s arousal intensifies, his pupils dilating as his gaze travels along Malcolm’s body, and the omega tenses, preparing—with the last vestiges of his free will—to offer up whatever sort of resistance he is able to John’s advances.

Malcolm knows resistance is futile, but he’s never been one to go down without a fight.

When John finally makes his move, reaching down towards Malcolm’s waist with obvious intent, Malcolm reacts quickly, twisting away, curling tightly in on himself once more. Not that it matters. John overpowers him easily, as if he doesn’t even notice Malcolm is resisting. He grabs Malcolm’s hips and yanks him across the hard floor until his arms are stretched above his head, the chain connecting his wrists to the bracket in the floor pulled taught. After that it’s only a matter of moments before John is straddling his thighs, holding him in place with the tight squeeze of powerful thighs as he quickly and methodically works at Malcolm’s belt and fly. As soon as they’re loosened, he stands and jerks Malcolm’s pants and briefs off, flinging them to the side before dropping back down over Malcolm’s thighs.

Malcolm throws his head back and lets one final, angry snarl as he struggles weakly beneath John’s hands. But then, John wraps a fist around Malcolm’s flushed and weeping cock, the other hand sliding between his cheeks, a finger slipping easily inside his slick-moistened passage, and the fight goes out of Malcolm, replaced by an all-consuming need.

John doesn’t bother with foreplay or teasing, but he isn’t vicious or violent in his taking of Malcolm. He strokes him steadily, keeping Malcolm pliant and needy beneath his hand as he opens him perfunctorily with two fingers fucking quickly in and out of his hole. Despite the mechanical nature of John’s attentions Malcolm is still writhing on his fingers after only a few moments. He’s keening, loud and pathetic, by the time John is opening his own fly and pulling out his large alpha cock, spreading Malcolm’s slick along the hard length, letting out a low, guttural moan when he presses the head against Malcolm’s entrance.

“John, please,” Malcolm begs, though he doesn’t even know what he’s begging for anymore—for the alpha to stop, or to take him _right the fuck now_.

“Please what, little Malcolm?” John coos, looking down at him with a smirk.

Malcolm presses his lips together, shaking his head as tears slide down his cheeks. He feels as if he’s burning up from the inside out, like fire is burning low in his belly, demanding to be fed by an alpha’s seed. His body is aching and pulsing with the need to be spread open around a thick alpha knot. But… _god_ , he thinks. _Not like this, not by_ him _._

John leers down at him and presses in, just the tip, before he withdraws completely.

Malcolm _mewls_ beneath him, squirming as he’s denied what his body so desperately, foolishly, undeniably aches for.

“That’s what I thought,” John preens, lining himself up once more and pressing in further this time. “The sooner you accept me as your mate, as your alpha, the better it will be for you, little omega.” John draws back, but not out, then presses in fully, sinking in to the hilt with a long, drawn out groan. “Oh, _yes_. You’re taking me so well. You were _made_ for me.”

Malcolm bites down on his lip, refusing to let any more pleas or exclamations escape. But, despite his determination, he can’t hold back the sounds of pleasure that John’s movements draw from him. The alpha feels huge inside of Malcolm, filling him _perfectly_ , just as John had said. The burn as he’s stretched around John’s length seems to dampen the raging fire of his heat, though it does nothing to quell the intensity of his need.

John pulls out slowly, and Malcolm can feel every inch of him as his thick length drags along the over-sensitive walls of his passage and he moans, no longer able to stop himself.

“Beg me, Malcolm,” John hisses, pausing, his body held taught above Malcolm’s, the head of his cock still stretching Malcolm open but leaving the rest of him empty and aching. “Beg your alpha to give you what you need.”

Malcolm shakes his head frantically, even as he rolls his hips, tries to push himself up further onto John’s length.

“Beg me!” John demands, slamming back into Malcolm in one hard, quick thrust that drives the air from Malcolm’s lungs.

Malcolm gasps, mouth falling open at the bolt of pleasure that courses through him, and then the words are spilling out of his mouth before he can stop them. “Oh, fuck,” he whines. “ _Hng_ , alpha. I need…” He groans and while his body is crying out to be taken, he can’t say the words, he _can’t_.

John wraps a hand around Malcolm’s cock where it lies weeping precome across his stomach and Malcolm cries out, muscles tensing as he strains to press up into the grip. John easily holds him in place with the weight of his body pressed against him, refusing to give him what he needs.

“ _God_!” Malcolm cries out in shock as John starts to work his length in a firm, calloused grip.

John slaps him hard across the face, so suddenly Malcolm doesn’t even see it coming. “Do _not_ take the Lord’s name in vain, you dirty omega whore.”

Malcolm’s ears are ringing from the force of the blow, his vision swimming, but he nods his understanding.

“Good boy,” John purrs, stroking him once more, pressing even further inside of him. “Now, _beg me._ ”

Malcolm shudders, clenching tight around where John is buried deep inside, his body straining for _more_. John loosens his grip in response but begins to strip Malcolm’s cock faster, the pressure nothing more than a teasing glide, just enough to keep him hard and aching and needy.

“Oh, oh fuck. Please!” Malcolm pleads, no longer able to fight his biological drive to be taken by the alpha. “ _Please_ , alpha. Fuck me, fill me.”

“That’s it, Malcolm,” John croons, voice low and sickeningly soft and smooth. “Give in to me. You’re meant to be mine, just like this.”

The demand sends a frisson of pleasure sparking along Malcolm’s spine and through each of his nerve endings and he moans, low and long. John starts to fuck him, hard and fast, no longer holding anything back. He releases his hold on Malcolm’s cock, the omega’s pleasure forgotten as he stakes his claim. It doesn’t matter. It’s been so long since Malcolm has been with an alpha during his heat that he’d forgotten how mind-blowingly _good_ it felt to be fucked through it. With no other touch aside from John’s cock moving inside of him he feels as if he could come any second, and yet he knows that won't happen until John knots him properly. It’s what he needs, more than anything at that moment—the urge to be stretched wide and filled up is stronger than his desire to reach his own completion. The biological imperative to breed has fully set in and overwhelmed him completely. It’s all that matters, now. He’s nothing more than a vessel, ready to be used, filled. It’s his only purpose until the long hours of his heat have passed, and it feels _incredible_.

He’s speaking—whining, begging, moaning. John is grunting above him, pounding into him hard enough that Malcolm is pushed back with each thrust. John’s knot starts to catch on Malcolm’s rim, spreading him wider and wider with each thrust.

“Ah, ah, ah, _oh_. Oh, go- _guh_. _John- oh_ ,” Malcolm keens, pulling against the restraints on his wrists in an aborted attempt to pull himself in closer, to take the alpha deeper.

John pulls out once more and the stretch as his knot pulls out is almost unbearable. When he shoves back in, forcing his swollen knot fully into Malcolm’s body he lets out a shout, wrapping his legs tight around the alpha’s hips and holding him close, clenching around him, doing all that he can to keep him from pulling back again.

“N-no more, alpha, please! It’s too much,” Malcolm begs.

John grinds against him, snarling as he rolls his hips, pulling back just enough that his knot starts to catch on Malcolm’s rim, making the omega cry out once more, before he presses back in as deep as he’s able.

“Oh, _yes_ ,” Malcolm hisses as John moves deep inside of him in quick, short thrusts that brush against exactly the right spot, over and over.

John drops down onto his elbows, trapping Malcolm’s cock between their bodies, and the added friction is all it takes for Malcolm to come. He arches up, head thrown back, choking on a wanton cry of pleasure as he comes around John’s knot, the intensity of his orgasm driving the air from his lungs. Malcolm spills his release across both of their chests, and it isn’t until he slumps to the floor, entirely spent, that he’s finally able to suck in a desperate breath.

John curses, wrapping a hand around Malcolm’s shoulder, holding Malcolm in place as he shoves himself as deep inside of the omega as he can before coming with a cry of his own. Malcolm can feel John’s seed filling him, soothing the raging fire of his heat and giving the omega a few moments of blessed relief from the insistent demands of the hormones raging through his body. John collapses down on top of him, driving the breath from him once more, but he barely notices as the chemicals swirling through him send him drifting in a sea of post-orgasmic bliss.

And they aren’t done. Not even close.

The moments following their first tie are some of the most confusing moments of Malcolm’s life. With what’s left of his sane mind he manages to be completely horrified at what’s just happened—what he knows will _keep_ happening, again, and again—and yet the way the alpha is filling him, surrounding him, inside and out, feels so _right_. He’s completely sated, for now, floating in a haze of deep satisfaction at having been taken and bred so thoroughly.

John’s rut has set in—Malcolm can smell it on him—it smells incredible—and he whines when the tension of the restraints keep his arms held above his head prevent him from burying his head in John’s neck to breathe the scent in more fully. John stirs at the sound, wrapping himself around Malcolm possessively, covering his body even more fully. They both groan as John’s knot shifts inside of Malcolm’s over-sensitized body, and John’s chest rumbles as he hums in satisfaction. He doesn’t speak to Malcolm, just holds him tightly in place, growling when Malcolm tries to move out from underneath the weight of his body. John’s knot has barely deflated by the time the next wave of Malcolm’s heat hits him, and he’s writhing and mewling beneath the alpha once more, begging him to move, to take him again.

The passage of time becomes irrelevant, the only thing guiding their actions is the cycle of their mating. John’s alpha instinct to provide and protect sets in more fully with the onset of his rut, and while he refuses to release Malcolm from his chains, he begins to care for him in other, surprising ways. He cuts Malcolm’s shirt off of him and wipes him clean after each round of fucking. He keeps Malcolm naked, but brings down blankets for them both to lay on and wrap nestle themselves in. He makes Malcolm drink water and feeds him bites of protein bars and fruit from his fingers. It would be sweet, tender, if it weren’t for the frighteningly possessive glint in John’s eyes, the way he looks at Malcolm like he owns him, now, and the chains that John refuses to remove. In the brief moments when Malcolm is left alone, when the heat has abated in the wake of being bred and his mind is more clear, he comforts himself with thoughts of his family, of his team, and, unsurprisingly, of Gil—the alpha who holds the most important place in Malcolm’s life, in his _heart_ , who Malcolm has secretly wished he was mated to for years. He lets his mind conjure images of what it would be like if Gil were the one guiding him through this heat, and it brings him a small measure of comfort.

For all his attempts at keeping his mind on positive things, each moment of clarity that Malcolm experiences is filled with one pressing fear—that John will fully bond with him. A bond would allow John to break Malcolm down and bend him to his will frighteningly easily. Malcolm knows there have been moments when he’s bared his neck to the alpha, lost in the ecstasy of their coupling, offering himself up for the natural culmination of John’s claim over him. The alpha has come close as well; scraping his teeth over the bundle of nerves in Malcolm’s neck where his bite would go, whispering dark promises of making Malcolm his forever while he fucks the omega into the floor and makes him beg for it.

And yet, they remain un-bonded. It is Malcolm’s one consolation in the whole mess. He can feel his heat winding down, the intensity lessening. Maybe John won’t do it. It would be an extra burden for him, and it would make Malcolm a weakness. His instincts towards his omega would be heightened, not just the possessiveness, but the drive to care and protect as well. Maybe John doesn’t want that.

Then, Malcolm goes and opens his smart mouth.

John brings him water and food and then waits with him as another wave of heat begins to build. He’s always touching Malcolm, refusing to leave him alone for long.

“Are you ready for me, my little omega?” John asks when Malcolm begins to squirm and moan.

“‘M not yours,” Malcolm slurs, unthinking.

John snarls, grabbing a fistful of hair and yanking Malcolm’s head to the side, baring his neck. “We can change that.”

Malcolm whimpers, shaking his head. “John, wait-” he gasps in sudden fear, realizing what he’s done.

John doesn’t listen. He takes Malcolm from behind, mounting him with one smooth stroke inside and then pounding into him with a single-minded focus. Malcolm is helpless beneath the onslaught, whimpering and moaning in equal measures of pain and pleasure as the alpha uses his body as it was intended to be used. When John’s knot starts to catch at his rim, Malcolm knows he’s out of time. John wraps a strong arm around his chest and pulls him up onto his knees, his arms stretched painfully out and down in front of him. John twists his other hand into Malcolm’s hair and pulls his head to the side once more.

“I’ve been thinking about this for so long, Malcolm. About making you mine. You, you’re so defiant, even still. You have to learn how to obey. I can teach you, Malcolm. I can teach you so much.”

Malcolm shudders, John’s words cutting through the lingering haze of heat clouding his mind, and panic begins to well up inside his chest, filling him and making it impossible to take in a full breath. He slumps forward, gasping for air, but John pulls him back against his chest, squeezing him and restricting his lungs even more.

“It’ll all be over soon, Malcolm,” John hisses into his ear, and then he’s setting his teeth against Malcolm’s shoulder.

Malcolm feels as if his life is flashing before his eyes, images of everything he’s about to lose filling his mind as he cries out in despair. One thought in particular overwhelms all the rest, and with what little air he has he sobs out a single, anguished word.

“ _Gil_!”

John freezes behind him, and for one brief moment everything is still and silent. “What did you just say?” the alpha growls, his hold around Malcolm’s body becoming frighteningly tight and painful.

“I- I don’t, I can’t...breathe. _John_ ,” Malcolm gasps, struggling weakly against the iron band of the alpha’s arm across his chest.

“You ungrateful whore!” John cries out. “Stupid omega slut! You don’t deserve my mark. You’re unworthy of the honor of being bonded.” John shakes Malcolm viciously, all the while still buried inside of him, nearly knotting him. His anger is so intense that Malcolm can smell it in his scent and feel it in the air, and it fills him with an almost overwhelming terror as he wheezes and struggles for air.

Before Malcolm can formulate any kind of response John shoves him forward and his forehead slams down against the floor with a sickening _crack_ of bone against concrete. Pain explodes inside of Malcolm’s head and a blinding bright flash of color fills his vision. And then, there is nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is not happy with Malcolm's rejection, but that doesn't mean he can abandon his mission.

He wakes up in a bed. He’s still naked, and he can feel the drag of the cuffs around his wrists still, too. But he’s no longer lying on a blanket spread over the hard floor. He’s laying on his stomach, wrists shackled to the headboard, but his head is on a pillow—lumpy and a little musty, but soft—his body nestled in a pile of sheets and blankets, almost like a proper heat nest.

It’s extremely off-putting.

For a moment Malcolm is terrified that John had bonded with him anyway. He can’t think of any other reason why he’d been moved, almost _pampered_ , if John is capable of such a thing. But there’s no ache on his neck where John’s bite would be, no pull of a bond.

His heat is still burning through him—his cock hard where it’s pressed against the sheets, slick dripping from his hole as his body prepares him to take his alpha again. Malcolm just wants this to be over; he doesn’t know how much longer he can take this constant internal struggle, the incessant need for John’s knot mixed with his disgust of the man and the situation. And yet he’s helpless to do anything about it. The biological imperative of an omega in heat to breed, to spend as much time as physically possible knotted to an alpha, is undeniable.

The next wave of his heat is beginning to build, arousal pooling low in his belly, slick coating his thighs and soaking the sheets beneath him. Malcolm doesn’t even try to stop the needy whine that falls from his lips. He _won’t_ call out for John by name but it’s pointless to pretend that he doesn’t need the alpha there with him, or that he doesn’t ache to be filled with his cock, stretched on his knot again, to feel his seed filling him, quenching the ache deep inside of him, if only for an hour or so.

There’s no response to his cry, no sounds of movement in the house, and while John’s scent hangs in the air, it isn’t as strong as it should be, as it would be if the alpha were actually there. Malcolm moans again, louder, twisting his wrists fitfully, testing the strength of the restraints. If John doesn’t come, if he can’t even touch himself or do more than rut helplessly against the sheets he thinks he’ll go mad. He hasn’t had to wait this long for John to come to him since his heat began and he’s terrified the alpha has left him to suffer alone.

He’s on the verge of tears—desperate, angry, frustrated tears—when he hears the heavy footfalls of John’s work boots in the hall, coming closer and closer. Malcolm whimpers in relief, a pathetic little mewling sound that draws a dark chuckle from John before he even walks in the room.

“Oh, Malcolm, my little omega _whore_. Did you miss me?” he sneers, an angry edge to his voice that wasn’t there before, and Malcolm realizes with a shudder that, despite the improvement in accommodations, John is still upset about the fact that he called out Gil’s name.

“‘M not a whore,” Malcolm grunts, meeting John’s derision with anger of his own. “I don’t, _uhng_ , I don’t want this.” He means to sound firm, insistent, but the effect is ruined by the sharp gasp that breaks free when John comes to sit beside him and runs his hand along Malcolm’s flank.

“You do, though, little Malcolm. Your whole body is begging for me, especially _here_ ,” John taunts, sliding his fingers between Malcolm’s cheeks and teasing at his hole.

Malcolm moans, hips twitching as he fights the urge to fuck himself on John’s fingers. He shakes his head, but he knows it’s pointless, that John is right. His need is undeniable, his desire overwhelming.

“John, please, just. Just fucking _do it._ ” he grits out, shifting to get his knees under him so he can present for his alpha.

“Mmm, not quite Malcolm. Need to get some food in you, some water. Sit up now,” John orders, hooking his hands beneath Malcolm’s arms and hauling him up toward the head of the bed till he’s sitting upright, leaning against the headboard and wall. John looks him over, leering as he takes in Malcolm’s straining cock and the bright flush that’s spread across his chest, neck and face. Malcolm trembles beneath his gaze, but there’s nowhere for him to go. There’s even less slack in the chain running between his wrists through a slat in the headboard.

“You’ll have to let me go if I’m going to eat,” Malcolm points out, pulling at the chain in demonstration.

“Nonsense, little omega. I’ll feed you, bit by bit. It’s what I’m supposed to do, isn’t it? Take care of you?” John asks.

“What, _ah, fuck_. What is this, John?” Malcolm gasps, biting back on another needy moan as the heat surges inside of him at the mere thought of John caring for him like a proper alpha would.

“ _This_ is what you’ll be missing out on after today. This is what you could have had, and _more_ , forever, if you weren’t such a dirty whore. If you were worthy of my bond.”

“What-” Malcolm begins, eyes drawing together in confusion.

“Shut up!” John snaps. He reaches behind himself and grabs a bowl from the bedside table. “You don’t speak. Now, eat.” The alpha holds a forkful of food out to him, and Malcolm obeys, lets John feed him because he’s starving and because he needs John to get on with it and _fuck him._ As Malcolm eats, John continues speaking. “I would have treated you well, Malcolm. You’re meant to be mine, be by my side, but you _ruined_ it. And now you have to face the consequences. I would have let you stay up here, with me. But you aren’t ready, I realize that now. You will be though, I’ll see to that.”

Malcolm’s mind is reeling as he tries to make sense of John’s ramblings. It’s difficult to think about anything past the burning need to be taken, and he doesn’t understand what John is trying to tell him. He makes it sound like Malcolm’s being punished by being here, in a bed, being hand-fed real food, and yet it feels like a luxury. Malcolm just can’t quite put the pieces together. And then the food is gone, and John is tilting a bottle of water up to his lips, and Malcolm decides he just doesn’t care anymore. He can’t do anything about it, not now. Whatever John plans for him is irrelevant if it doesn’t involving fucking him, breeding him, and knotting him _right now._

Malcolm whines, high and needy, pulling at the chains on his wrists in an aborted attempt to reach out to John, to pull him close or push him down so he can climb on top of him and ride him till he collapses.

Rather than sink his cock into Malcolm’s slick, needy hole, John slides off the bed, looking down at Malcolm in disgust, despite the fact that Malcolm can see how hard John is for him, too.

“I should leave you like this,” John spits out suddenly, turning to put the bowl back on the table and even going so far as to take a step towards the door.

“John!” Malcolm calls out in desperation. “Dammit, John, don’t. Please, I need. _Fuck_ John, I need you.”

“And yet you’ve been thinking of someone else this whole time,” John growls, turning back to glare at him, jealousy burning bright in his eyes as he looks Malcolm over possessively.

“ _John_ , you can’t…you can’t think that I’d just accept this. I don’t have any fucking choice right now, but if I did it would _never_ be you,” Malcolm snarls back. He may regret it, John may storm out and leave him there to burn through the rest of his heat. But he’d rather that than ever let John think he’d be here if he had any other choice.

John turns back to the bed with a snarl, launching himself at Malcolm, wrapping a hand around his throat and slamming him back against the wall. Malcolm chokes and gasps and fucking _moans_ because he’s always been a pain slut and right now all he can think about is sex. But John doesn’t touch him anywhere else, just pins him to the wall by his throat as he glares down at him.

“You will _not_ speak to me like that, do you understand?” he demands, pulling Malcolm forward and slamming him back once more.

Malcolm chokes out a pained cry as stars burst in his vision, his legs twitch and he means to kick out at John, he really does, but they seem to move of their own volition, spreading and hooking around the alpha’s thighs, trying to draw him in closer.

John grunts in surprise, and relaxes his grip on Malcolm’s throat. “You really are a needy little whore, aren’t you? And it’s me you need, isn’t it? Hmm? You might not want me, but you need me, don’t you? Don’t you!” he yells, shaking Malcolm and knocking his head back against the wall once more.

“Yes!” Malcolm cries out. “Yes, John, _yes_. I need you. _Please_.”

John grins down at him in triumph and unbridled lust, scooting back on the bed and grabbing hold of Malcolm’s ankles, yanking him down so he’s laid out flat on his back, hands pulled up above his head. Malcolm mewls, writhing against the sheets as John pulls himself out of his pants and mounts Malcolm without any further hesitation, thrusting into the hilt with one quick, harsh snap of his hips.

Malcolm wails, head thrown back in ecstasy as John finally gives him what his body has been craving. John sets a brutal pace, gripping him tightly by the hips and fucking him fast and hard. Malcolm moans beneath him like the whore John claims him to be, letting his legs fall open wide as he takes everything John has to give him. John grunts above him, and while the alpha hadn’t exactly been a gentle lover during their previous couplings, whatever roughness he’d shown then was nothing compared to the frantic and unrestrained way that he takes Malcolm, now. Pain mixes with pleasure and Malcolm moans and sobs with nearly every thrust, his cries becoming higher, more frantic as the pressure builds in his belly, orgasm approaching quickly.

John’s knot swells and starts to catch on Malcolm’s rim, and the alpha shifts, dropping his weight down onto an elbow, holding himself just above Malcolm’s body and grinding into him with quick, shallow snaps of his hips, hitting Malcolm’s prostate with nearly every thrust. Malcolm chokes, hardly able to draw a breath as his body arches up against John’s, desperate little _‘oh, oh, oh’s_ ’ the only sound he’s able to make. He’s so close, the stretch and burn of John filling him bringing him right to the edge, only seconds away from coming, he’s sure of it. John must see it on his face. He sneers down at Malcolm and scrapes his fingernails roughly across his chest before pinching a nipple between two fingers and twisting harshly. Malcolm bucks, shouting as the shock of pain sends him over the edge and he starts to come, vision going white with the intensity of it.

John slams into him once more and then starts to come with a shout of his own, knot pulsing and throbbing as he empties himself into Malcolm’s body. John collapses down on top of Malcolm with a grunt, the weight of his body driving what little air Malcolm had left in his lungs out of him in a _whoosh_. Malcolm wheezes, squirming beneath John’s weight, but there’s nothing he can do to shift the larger man off of him. John growls in response to his efforts, biting down hard on Malcolm’s ear before fisting a hand in his hair and pulling him into a rough, possessive kiss. Malcolm sobs against John’s lips, struggling to take in air. By the time John pulls away, finally lifting his weight up off of him, Malcolm is trembling and desperate for air. He sucks in heaving lungful's as tears stream down his cheeks.

“Is this what you needed, little omega? Hmm?” John purrs down at him. “For your alpha to breed you? Well, I’m happy to give you exactly what you need. And maybe one day, once you’ve learned, when you’ve accepted your place, I’ll give you what you _want_ , too. Until then,” John shifts back, onto his knees as much as he can with his knot still buried inside of Malcolm’s body.

Malcolm moans as John’s knot pulls at his rim and shifts inside of him, rubbing against his over-sensitized inner walls, the feeling _too much_ and _not enough,_ and already his cock is beginning to twitch, the heat building inside of him already, demanding more, _always_ more.

John smirks down at him. “Until then, I’ll be taking what I want from you, from your whore body. If you aren’t ready to work with me as my partner, you’ll serve me as my omega slut.” He reaches out and takes Malcolm in his hand, squeezing hard enough to be painful and beginning to stroke. It’s too much, too soon.

“Oh, god, John!” Malcolm cries out, yanking desperately at the cuffs around his wrists. “Fuck, stop! Please!”

John slaps him hard enough that Malcolm sees stars, silencing him. “You know better! What did I tell you about taking the Lord’s name in vain?” He keeps stroking, forcing Malcolm back to hardness.

Malcolm squirms and pants, overwhelmed by sensations of pain and pleasure that he can’t escape. John grinds into him, his knot still thick and hot inside of Malcolm, his grip too firm, unrelenting.

“Come for me again, whore,” John demands, stroking faster. He reaches up, plucking at Malcolm’s nipple once more, twisting and pulling mercilessly.

“John, John, please, I...I _can’t_!” Malcolm wails, but John doesn’t stop.

After several long, agonizing moments John manages to force another orgasm from Malcolm’s body. He comes with a pained cry, body tensing, hole tightening around John’s knot. The alpha moans, low and long, running his hands over Malcolm’s chest and sides as Malcolm pants and sobs through his orgasm.

Malcolm collapses down against the bed, completely spent, darkness tugging at the edge of his vision as his overworked body goes completely lax beneath John’s hands.

“There it is,” he hears John murmur, barely audible. “Now you’re learning to give yourself over to me.”

Malcolm whines softly, fearfully, as he slips into unconsciousness.

  
  


***  
  


When John’s cock finally slips free of his omega’s tight hole, he knows he should move. There are things he needs to do. He needs to clean the dirty little slut up, clean himself up. Check the perimeter of the cabin, ensure their supplies are still sufficient. When he’d been making preparations to bring Malcolm here, he hadn’t planned on the omega going into heat and essentially trapping John here at the cabin with him, the biological imperative of his rut meaning that he’s unable to leave the boy’s side for too long. Thankfully, the boy hasn’t been up for eating much, and their supplies will last through the end of his heat. It’s winding down, John can tell, the periods between Malcolm’s moments of need becoming fewer and farther between. John can smell the change in him, too, the intoxicating scent of Malcolm’s lustful desire diminishing each time John knots him.

Their scents are beginning to mix, now, too. It’s a beautiful thing. Not as much as they would if he’d bonded with the boy, but…that will come. John had been so eager, too eager, perhaps, thinking that mating with the omega during Malcolm’s heat would make the boy entirely his. But he sees now that this mission will take time. When he’d first realized his little omega had gone into heat he’d thought perhaps God had given him an easier path to walk with the boy than the one he’d been expecting. He’d been foolish to think such a thing. There would still be trials, still be lessons to teach the boy, and John was ready.

Despite his better judgement, he sits on the bed and watches Malcolm sleep, thinking about all the plans he has for the boy. He touches him, too. He’s never been a particularly carnal man, the desires of the flesh holding little interest for him, even as an alpha. None of the other omegas he’d come across as part of his mission had sparked his desire. But Malcolm…there’s something about him. John touches and looks. He slips a finger back inside the omega’s loose little hole, feeling how hot and wet he is, still filled with John’s seed. He’d bred the boy well, each time he’d had him. Filled him full of his seed, claiming him more thoroughly each time he knotted him.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever grow tired of having the boy beneath him, like that. Perhaps, in time, their couplings will become more of an equal exchange. Perhaps he’ll try to learn to give Malcolm more pleasure, and Malcolm will grow to learn to want to pleasure him, as well. But, that will only come once they’ve bonded. Once Malcolm has accepted him as not only master, but mate. Until then…

Until then, Malcolm is his to do with as he pleases. He stretches out beside the omega, curling an arm around him, fingering idly at his hole because he _can_ and burying his head in the nape of Malcolm’s neck, breathing in his scent, _their_ scent.

  
  


John should have known better. He shouldn’t have given in to his lust, into his desire to spend more time enjoying his omega than he should have. It makes him weak, makes him drop his guard. Malcolm is a distraction, and his downfall.

He doesn’t hear it when the assault team enters the house, doesn’t smell their approach, focused on Malcolm as he is. He does hear the creak of a floorboard in the hall, and by then it’s too late. They rush into the room, guns raised, shouting demands. One of them, a large, black alpha rushes him and tackles him to the ground before John can even muster an ounce of resistance.

The alpha is rough, shouting and cursing at him as he jerks his arms behind him and slaps cuffs on his wrists. John doesn’t resist. He watches Malcolm. Malcolm, who jerks awake with a cry, curling in on himself as his eyes dart wildly around the room, chest heaving as he begins to panic. Another alpha— _Gil_ , John realizes with a snarl, recognizing him as the man who’d arrested Martin—rushes to Malcolm’s side and gathers him in his arms. Malcolm clings to him, _the whore_ , burying his head in the other alpha’s shoulder.

John is pulled roughly to his feet and pushed towards the door, a cop on either side of him, holding his arms tightly, the big alpha walking behind him. Still, he manages to turn, snarling back at _his_ omega.

“Malcolm!” he shouts, and the omega flinches, nearly raises his head, but Gil stops him, presses Malcolm’s head back down against his shoulder. “Malcolm, you whore! You’re mine! You can’t escape that! You were given to me!” John screams. He keeps screaming as they lead him from the house, his alpha instincts flaring to life once the shock of the sudden arrest has worn off. Rages burns within him as they lead him away from his omega. His! The boy is his, they can’t take him away from John. They’ll see. They’ll see…


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm is finally free from John. Or is he?

He isn’t asleep, not really, but he’s not awake, either. Consciousness tugs at him, urging him into full awareness, but he doesn’t want it. He fights it, knowing that when he wakes, it will be to a nightmare. He drifts, and he can feel John there with him. He touches him and Malcolm doesn’t like it, doesn’t want the man’s hands on him anymore, but he can’t do anything about it except slip further back into the darkness. It’s going to happen, but he doesn’t have to be around for it.

A sudden cacophony of sound and smell crashes over him like an almost physical wave of sensation and yanks him forcefully back to consciousness despite how badly he’d like to never wake again.

The room is filled with people, with cops. One of them lunges at them—JT, Malcolm realizes dimly—grabbing hold of John and throwing him to the ground beside the bed, leaving Malcolm alone, naked and helpless in a swarm of people and he can smell that there are other alpha’s in the room and suddenly fear wells up inside of him and he curls in on himself, doing his best to shield himself from them all. He knows in his mind they’re there to save him, but his instincts are running on overdrive, screaming at him that these alpha’s could be a threat, could use him just like John had been…

And then Gil is there beside him. He wraps his strong arms around Malcolm and pulls him in close. Malcolm sobs in relief, burying his head in the crook of Gil’s neck so that he’s all he sees, feels, smells. Despite the sharp edge of anger that colors Gil’s usual scent, being in his arms soothes Malcolm as his body responds to the alpha he’s been longing for this whole time. Gil’s presence calms his raging hormones and relaxes his fear response, allowing his rational mind to take over once more. He starts to cry, then, because Gil came. And JT, and surely Dani, his team, his _family_. They’re there for _him_. To save him from this nightmare. Gil holds him, grounding him even when John begins to scream for him. He nearly responds, the alpha’s command over him hard to resist after spending a heat with him, but Gil holds him closer, whispers in his ear that it’s done, over, that he’s safe, and he’ll never see John again, and Malcolm believes him.

They cut the cuffs from his wrists with bolt cutters. Gil wraps him in a blanket when they can’t find his clothes, and leads him out to an ambulance with a firm arm wrapped around his shoulders. Malcolm’s legs are wobbly, weak and achy from disuse, but Gil supports him, holds him up till he can collapse down onto the gurney. They hook him to an IV and give him suppressants to put an end to the rest of his heat. They give him painkillers, and Gil tells them no sedatives, but Malcolm isn’t convinced they listen, because after only a few short moments he’s drifting asleep, unable to keep his eyes open as the ambulance lurches into motion. Gil stays with him, though, holding his hand and murmuring softly to him. _‘I’ve got you, kid. I’m here. You’re safe now. You’re going to be okay, I’ve got you. I’m sorry Malcolm, so sorry…”_ Malcolm shakes his head, because it’s not Gil’s fault, but he can’t get the words out. He squeezes Gil’s hand weakly as his eyes fall closed one last time and he succumbs to slumber once more.

***

Malcolm drifts slowly into wakefulness. His eyes feel heavy, too heavy to open, exhaustion weighing his mind and body down. But, even without opening his eyes, he knows one thing—he's _safe_.

He's _warm_. He's _clothed_ , and covered with a blanket and his arms lay at his side, not bound above his head. More than that, he can't smell _John_ at all. The only alpha he smells is Gil. Gil, who smells like comfort, like safety, like _home_. That alone is enough to allow Malcolm to sink further into the comfort of whatever bed he's in and give in to the pull of sleep. Whatever happened before, he knows that in this moment he is safe. Gil is there, Gil will watch over him.

Malcolm's next venture into consciousness is less peaceful and _far_ less pleasant. He wakes up screaming and nearly throws himself from the bed. The only thing that stops his thrashing is how badly moving hurts. The shooting pain rips him from his slumber and his nightmare. Malcolm falls back down against the mattress, panting and shaking. His whole body _aches_ and his head is throbbing. A dull beat pounds out a rhythm against his skull in time with the beat of his heart. Worst of all, Gil’s scent is no longer there to comfort him. He opens his eyes slowly, blinking against the too-bright shine of overhead fluorescent lighting.

He takes in the room where he’s laying—a hospital room, of course. It’s quiet. He isn’t hooked up to any machinery, just an IV. So, no serious injuries. Likely he’s being held for observation and to allow his body to replenish on the fluids and nourishment it lost during his heat. His heat, which has fully passed thanks to the suppressants, it seems. His rescue is a blurry mess of memory, but one thought comes crashing into him suddenly, overshadowing all others.

They all know what happened. They all _saw_.

_Oh god, oh god, oh god_ , he thinks again and again. He can tell a panic attack is coming on, and he feels like he’s eleven again, with so many emotions welling up inside of him that he can’t begin to process them, and he starts to shut down. His chest is heaving as his breathing becomes wild and erratic.

A figure darkens the doorway, and Malcolm glances wildly over to see Gil rushing in towards him. He meets the alpha’s eyes desperately and begs silently for help, the way he used to as a child, and Gil responds immediately.

“Malcolm, Malcolm, hey, kid. It’s okay, you need to breathe, okay? Just breathe,” Gil says, coming to sit next to him on the bed and taking Malcolm’s hand in his.

The alpha’s scent fills his senses and it should be calming, but instead it just adds to the mess of confusion Malcolm feels. He _needs_ Gil, but he’s so ashamed, convinced that Gil will never want anything to do with him, now. He knows, he _knows_ , how can he not? Knows everything that happened in that cabin, everything Malcolm did, everything Malcolm begged and pleaded for John to do to him.

“Hey, Bright. Bright, come on now. Please, just breathe, okay?” Gil rests a hand gently on Malcolm’s chest, the warmth of his palm seeping through the thin hospital gown, and it grounds Malcolm. “In…and out. I don’t want them to have to sedate you, Malcolm. Please, for me. In… there we go. Out,” Gil pleads, guiding Malcolm through each breath, helping him to settle down, soothing him with a soft pressure against his chest on each exhale.

Finally Malcolm’s breathing is under control, the panic fading into something more manageable. It’s only after the fear is gone that the tears start to come. He can feel them streaming down his face, and he starts to sob, chest heaving once more, this time with the force of his crying. He reaches up and clutches tightly to Gil’s hand, and even though his vision becomes blurred with tears he doesn’t look away from the alpha. He can’t speak, can’t even begin to find the words to address everything that happened, all he can do is pray silently that Gil understands, and that he doesn’t leave him.

“Oh, _Malcolm_ ,” Gil sighs softly, tears starting to form at the corners of his eyes as well. “That’s good, kid. Let it out, you’re safe now. I’ve got you, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Malcolm nods gratefully, wiping at his face with his free hand, sucking in a deep breath and trying to get his emotions under control. It feels good to cry, to release some of the pressure that had built up beneath his ribs. “How long?” he finally manages to whisper.

Gil hesitates, shifty uncomfortably. “Are you sure-”

“Please,” Malcolm begs. He needs to know everything, needs it all out on the table so he can handle it all at once. He doesn’t want to find out in bits and pieces and flashes of nightmare memories.

“You were gone for three days. In the end, your father helped us narrow down the location. John is in custody. The doctors sedated you to help you through, uh, through the rest of your heat while the suppressants kicked in. They said you were fine aside from a slight concussion and some dehydration. Now that you’re awake you should be able to go home.”

Malcolm nods, throat tight with emotion as he tries to find the words to say…say anything. He doesn’t even know what he _can_ say, what he wants to ask or what he needs to know.

“Malcolm, what happened there, _whatever_ happened, was out of your control. We all know that, and no one on this team thinks any differently, any _less_ of you. Do you understand me?” Gil tells him, cupping his chin and meeting his gaze steadily as he speaks. Gil’s eyes are filled with worry, and care, and…and love, Malcolm thinks. Always so much love. There’s no disgust there, or pity even, and Malcolm thinks that maybe he can believe him.

“I, _oh god_. I…how…?” he stammers, more tears falling as he struggles to come to terms with it all. “He almost, he could have bonded with me. _Gil_ , he tried to—” _To take me from you_ , he nearly says, biting back on the words at the very last second.

“I know, kid. God, I know. When we came into that house, when I. Fuck, when I realized what had happened, I thought he _had_ and I…well. Let’s just say it’s a good thing JT got to him first or I’d probably be in jail right now. I wanted to kill him, kid. I could have…” Gil admits, voice heavy with emotion.

“Oh, _Gil_ ,” Malcolm breathes, nearly overwhelmed by the intensity of Gil’s emotions, the sharp bite of anger that starts to color his scent, so unusual for the normally unflappable alpha.

“He’ll never touch you again,” Gil pledges, his grip on Malcolm’s hand tightening, his gaze taking on an almost possessive glint that sends a thrill through Malcolm.

It’s too much to think about at that moment. He shuts his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm himself. Both of their emotions are high, too high to be drawing any conclusions or having any sort of revelations.

“Thank you, Gil,” Malcolm whispers.

“Oh kid, you don’t have anything to thank me for. I should have…well. Just, don’t ever do that to me again, okay?”

Malcolm smiles weakly, nodding. “I’ll try my best.”

Gil sits with him for several more long minutes with neither of them saying anything. Malcolm almost drifts back to sleep when he hears the unmistakable sound of his mother’s voice coming from outside the room. Oh god, his _mother_. He looks up at Gil, panic welling once more. Does she know? How much does she know? She’ll be devastated…

“She doesn’t know,” Gil whispers just seconds before Jessica appears in the doorway.

Malcolm nearly sobs in relief. His mother is a beta, she wouldn’t have been able to smell his heat on him, and medical privacy laws would keep the doctors from telling her anything that didn’t require a life or death treatment decision. _She doesn’t know_.

“Oh, Malcolm, thank god!” Jessica exclaims, rushing in and practically pushing Gil away as she wraps him in a hug.

He endures her fretting until the doctor comes a few moments later and tells him he’s being released. Jessica insists on taking him home and Malcolm agrees because he has little other option, but his eyes keep finding Gil’s, and though he doesn’t say it aloud, he hopes the alpha can see it in his eyes, his face, how badly he wants him to stay. Gil gives him a soft smile, and a nod, and Malcolm feels himself relax, turning himself willingly over to his mother’s care with the assurance that his alpha will still be there for him afterwards.

“I should go home. Shower,” Gil says in a brief moment of silence as Jessica catches her breath. “I’m glad you're okay, Malcolm.”

“No thanks to you,” Jessica mutters under her breath, and Malcolm clenches his jaw to keep from snapping at her. She’s never understood why he does what he does, and she’s always blamed Gil to one extent or another. It’s been a constant point of contention between them, one that he isn’t interested in hashing out at the moment.

“Thank you, Gil,” he says softly instead, content in the knowledge that he’ll see Gil again once Jessica has removed herself from the equation.

Gil nods in understanding and heads out into the hallway, leaving Malcolm in his mother’s hands.

***

Unsurprisingly, Gil insists that he take a leave of absence. Malcolm, for once, agrees.

He doesn’t fancy crossing paths with Colette if he doesn’t have to, knowing she’ll be furious that he managed to insert himself into the investigation despite her insistence that he stay away from John. Malcolm is fairly certain that Gil and the rest of the team will have kept the sordid details of exactly what transpired during his time with Watkins out of any reports they file, but he’s also certain that if Colette saw him, she’d immediately try to question him further, and he isn’t interested in subjecting himself to that.

Gil had taken his official statement at the loft the day he went home from the hospital, and Malcolm had slowly told him everything. He wants Gil to know everything, as painful as it is for both of them. He knows that the alpha will only report the most relevant of details in their case against Watkins and would keep the rest private.

Of course, the medical records will reflect that Malcolm had been in heat during his time with Watkins, and that he and Watkins had had intercourse, but that wouldn’t matter. The only times when sex with an omega in heat is considered to be rape is when the heat is forced upon the omega through drugs. Otherwise, it’s nearly impossible to try an alpha, even taking into consideration the evidence that Malcolm was chained to the floor and bed throughout his time with Watkins. They have enough on Watkins as it is, and as long as the man is going to be in jail for the rest of his life, Malcolm doesn’t care if he’s charged for rape or not.

Dani and JT come to check on him. It’s awkward, at first; the fact that they all know that they all _know_ hanging in the air between them until finally Dani takes the plunge and assures him of what Gil had already said—that none of them feel any differently towards him. JT ensures Malcolm knows just how true this is by ribbing him for the rest of their visit. By the time they leave Malcolm feels much more confident about his eventual return to work.

Eventual, because Malcolm’s emotional and mental stability are all over the map. He’s used to fighting with his demons, but his current struggle is beyond his ability to control. The effects of going off his meds cold turkey had been dampened by his heat, but now he’s dealing with the aftermath as he struggles to get back to his version of normal. Aside from that, there is the struggle to come to terms with what he’d experienced at John’s hands; that he’d been used, taken advantage of, _raped_ , even though at the time he’d felt as if he’d needed it, even begged for it. While intellectually he knows that what happened to him was unwanted, his body doesn’t seem to take the hint. Physically, he is craving the presence of an alpha. Even though they hadn’t bonded, John knotting and breeding him during his heat had left what feels like a biological scar that will take time to fade. Malcolm is still on edge, physically and even emotionally, aching for a touch he doesn’t even want, his body yearning for the presence of the alpha who had brought him through his heat.

Gil comes to see him every day, and his visits help to soothe the ache Malcolm feels for the presence of an alpha. For his part, Gil touches him more, sits close when they’re on the couch watching tv, and always makes sure Malcolm eats when he’s there. He’s acting as if _he_ is Malcolm’s alpha, and Malcolm isn’t sure why, but he’s incredibly grateful for it. It’s possible that Gil could know how much he needs an alpha presence in his life right now, or he could be overly-protective in the wake of nearly losing Malcolm. Or…well. Malcolm doesn’t let himself think beyond those two options. Whatever the alpha’s motivations, his presence is invaluable.

A week passes, and then two. Physically, he’s back to normal. No more dehydration or malnourishment. The physical aftermath of the heat faded into memory, only. And yet he still feels tired, drained. He never quite regains his former energy levels. He attributes it to the lingering mental and emotional effects of his heat and brief captivity. He gets back on his meds, and he knows he has to give them time, but he still feels more emotionally unsteady than he ever has before.

He doesn’t have nightmares, which surprises him. Mentally, he seems to have recovered, returned to what normal is, for him. But emotionally, he’s a wreck. And it doesn’t fade with time or medication like he’d thought it would. After two weeks, he decides he just can’t wait anymore. He’s going completely stir-crazy, even with the regular visits from his mother and Gil and occasionally Dani and JT. He _needs_ to get back to work.

He doesn’t tell Gil he’s planning to come in. He isn’t certain he’d say no, but what he _is_ certain of is that Gil is much more likely to say ‘no’ _before_ he arrives than he is once Malcolm is already there. Malcolm knows Gil has a soft spot for him, and he tries not to abuse it. Too much. Only when he _needs_ to be at work. And boy, does he need to be at work.

The team seems surprised to see him when Malcolm walks into the precinct, and not necessarily pleasantly so, though he isn’t told to leave. He knows they all worry for him, that their hesitation to have him there is born of their concern for his well-being. It’s touching now, when before it would have been discouraging. Even still, he ignores their thinly-veiled suggestions that it’s early yet for him to be back, and butts in on the current case.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary, and they almost certainly don’t need his help, but they include him anyway, seeking out his advice and asking him for a profile. They make him feel needed, welcomed, _normal_. It means more than he could ever say.

Things seem to go back to normal. At least, whatever normal is for him. His eating habits, which he thought he’d finally gotten a grip on, seem to have been completely thrown off by his time with John. The few foods that he had come to regard as safe go-to’s no longer appeal to him. He finds himself craving strange things, and is shocked to find that they don’t unsettle his stomach like he’d expect them too. And yet, he finds that he is struggling with nausea much more regularly. It isn’t unheard of for his stomach to rebel and cause his problems, but it goes on for days and days, seemingly for no reason. He blames it on his body’s response to going back on a regular regimen of medication and pushes through.

It’s all easy to ignore, to hide, until suddenly it’s not.

Almost a month after his heat he finds himself at a gruesome crime scene with the rest of the team. A triple homicide, and a violent one. There’s blood everywhere, and it isn’t a particularly fresh crime scene, so the smell is...less than pleasant. Even so, it’s nothing he’s never seen before. In fact, he’s seen, and smelled, worse. Much worse. Still, only seconds after walking onto the scene Malcolm’s stomach starts to rebel violently and he has to run outside to avoid contaminating the scene as he vomits, stomach emptying itself of the meager amount of food he was able to get down that morning.

Gil follows him out, hurrying over to rub his back soothingly as he heaves, hands braced on his knees, head ducked in consternation.

“What the hell?” Malcolm groans once he’s finally able to choke out the words. “What is wrong with me?”

“Kid?” Gil asks, worry evident in his tone and the way he won’t stop touching him.

“I think. I think something is wrong. I think…” In the back of the mind, he _knows_ what’s wrong. It’s been niggling at his subconscious, coming to his mind unbidden when he finds himself hunched over his toilet for seemingly no reason, when his emotions take a wild turn. _You’re pregnant,_ his brain supplies. _You’re pregnant with John’s baby._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude of sorts, from Gil's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapter, but we will be getting back into the action, full steam ahead next chapter! As always, thanks for reading!

To say Gil was displeased when Malcolm showed up at the precinct, unannounced and uninvited, would be an understatement. He’s not at all surprised, though. Honestly, he’d been expecting the kid for most of the week. It’s more surprising that Malcolm managed to stay away—mostly of his own accord—for as long as he did. Even still, he’s seen the omega every day since they got him back, and he knows that Malcolm isn’t quite functioning on all cylinders yet—mentally _or_ physically. 

Gil is worried about him. 

Not that he expected Malcolm to bounce back immediately, to act as if nothing had happened, _but…_ Well, in truth that is a little what he’d expected. An act, not an immediate recovery. But Malcolm doesn’t try to hide the fact that he’s struggling from Gil. He hasn’t told him exactly what’s wrong, but he doesn’t try to pretend that he’s fine.

Gil can only imagine the demons Malcolm must be battling. New demons, as if he didn’t have enough to fight already. The kid just can’t seem to catch a break. And so, Gil worries. 

He’s worried about the kid for most of Malcolm’s life, ever since he met him as a brave young boy, trying to stop a monster. In fact, the times Gil has worried about him the least were during the time Malcolm spent working for the FBI, far away from New York and his father’s legacy. 

When he’d first met Malcolm, Gil had worried that Martin had broken him for good. _Not_ ruined, because anyone who spent any time with Malcolm could see what a bright, caring, thoughtful boy he was. But _broken_ , crushed beneath the weight of baseless guilt and nightmares brought on by who knows what sort of memories. Gil’s always wondered just how much Malcolm saw in that basement, what sort of things Martin showed him in the name of ‘education’ and ‘science.’

But Malcolm had bounced back. He’s a tough kid, one of the most resilient and stubborn people Gil knows. That doesn’t stop his worrying. Because Malcolm is also one of the most selfless and self-sacrificing idiots that Gil knows, too. That’s probably another reason he worried less when Malcolm was away—he didn’t know about all the times the kid was being reckless. He could live in ignorant bliss, pretending that Malcolm never did anything foolish.

Now, he knows better. So he worries, and he battles his own guilt that he’d brought Malcolm back into this world, that this is his fault, somehow. Maybe it’s his protective alpha instincts that make him feel that way. Malcolm is family, there’s no doubt about that. He’s considered the kid to be one of his own since the day they met. He feels not only responsible for the kid but incredibly protective of him, and…and more. Possessive. But he tries not to dwell on _that_. Their relationship is already complicated as it is. Alpha, omega. Rescuer, victim. Quasi-boss, employee. _But you love him_ , his subconscious whispers to him, every time he has this argument with himself. _You love him, and not like a son_.

That’s how it had started, of course. The alpha in Gil had immediately demanded to draw the frightened, helpless omega child under his wing. To offer not only him, but his whole family, protection in the absence—the _betrayal_ —of their father, their alpha. But then Malcolm had grown up, and left, and that familial bond had faded to almost nothing by the time he returned, shifting into something different. Not that Gil had stopped caring for him, he just…hadn’t cared for him in that way, anymore. Malcolm was a grown man, and he wasn’t actually family. And, he was an unbonded omega in his prime breeding years. An omega for whom Gil still had strong feelings of attachment and protection. It was, _is_ , a mess. A mess Gil prefers to ignore.

But he still worries.

  
  


Malcolm seems to improve, unsurprisingly, when he returns to work. The kid has never tried to hide the fact that his work, no matter how gruesome or macabre, settles something within him. Grounds him, somehow. Perhaps because it is, sadly, familiar. He understands it, as much as anyone can understand such heinous acts. He can _solve_ it. Fix it. End it. And that’s what keeps Gil from worrying too much; the knowledge that, deep down, Malcolm’s primary drive, his one aim, is to stop the murders from happening again.

Things had seemed better. Malcolm had seemed better, settling back into a regular routine. Back to normal. Then, this.

Malcolm, running _away_ from a crime scene. Nauseated by it. Gil’s never seen the kid so affected before. Not by his father’s copycat, by missing brains, or months old bodies crushed in compactors. None of that had seemed to phase him. 

Gil follows him outside. He doesn’t chase him, because he doesn’t want to turn it into some sort of scene. He walks out calmly after him, even though inwardly his mind is racing as he wonders what could have caused such a response. He finds Malcolm in the front yard and does hurry over when he sees that the kid is bent over, retching. Gil comforts him as best he can, waiting for the gagging to stop. A horrible sense of dread begins to settle over him. A sneaking suspicion, a fear he’d refused to dwell on or give any thought to since they rescued Malcolm. Rescued him, in the middle of an intense heat. Rescued him from an alpha who’d clearly been _seeing him through_ that heat.

(Malcolm hadn’t bothered to press charges, and Watkins had been disgustingly smug about it all. Gil had watched part of the bastard’s interrogation from the observation room, and it had taken everything within him, and JT standing between him and the door, to keep from rushing out and bursting into the interrogation room to strangle the man to death. Watkins claimed to have been saving Malcolm, helping him. Doing his duty as an alpha. He bragged about Malcolm wanting it, begging for it. Gil has never felt a hatred so strong as he does towards John Watkins.)

When Malcolm recovers enough to speak, it’s clear he’s frightened, confused.

He looks up from where he’s bent over, eyes wide as he meets Gil’s gaze. A growing horror seems to come over his face, and Gil wants to scream ‘no, no, no!’ as they both seem to come to the same conclusion.

“You should go see a doctor,” Gil manages to choke out. He doesn’t know what else to say. They need to know, _Malcolm_ needs to know, for sure.

“Gil,” Malcolm whispers, standing up straight only to sway, knees buckling suddenly. 

Gil reaches out, wrapping an arm around Malcolm’s waist to steady him. He’s so light, still. So slender. More than he should be, more than can possibly be healthy. 

“Hey, hey, easy Bright. Easy,” he murmurs, holding tightly until Malcolm is able to get his legs under him once more and bear his own weight. “It’s going to be okay, Bright. _Malcolm_ , do you hear me? Whatever is going on, it will be okay.”

“How—” Malcolm chokes out. “ _How_ can you _say_ that? How can this be okay? I have to…I can’t _do_ this.” Malcolm sways again, hands coming up to press against his face and slide into his hair, grabbing handfuls and tugging as tears well in his eyes. 

Gil can feel his heart breaking for him. Malcolm is right, ‘okay’ is not the right word for any of this. But he doesn’t know how else to say what he means—that he will be here for Malcolm, no matter what. That Malcolm isn’t alone. That none of this is Malcolm’s fault, that Gil will see him through this, whatever it takes. 

“You’re right, you’re right,” Gil soothes, reaching up to pull Malcolm’s hands away before he can hurt himself. “You don’t have to do this on your own, Malcolm. None of it.” He pulls Malcolm into a hug, squeezing tightly, quickly, before stepping back to hold him at arm's length, ducking his head to look him in the eye when Malcolm keeps his head bowed. “You can meet us back at the precinct and look at the crime scene photos, okay? As long as you promise to make an appointment with a doctor.” He knows better than to tell Malcolm to go home, to take the day. The last thing he needs is to be alone with his thoughts, his fears.

Malcolm nods, lifting his gaze long enough to give him a weak, watery smile. “Thanks, Gil. I uh. I’ll wait here, if that’s okay? I don’t have a ride, and I need the fresh air.”

“Sure, kid. Text if you need anything or change or mind, okay? And no wandering off. I swear kid, if you aren’t out here when I come back…”

“I won’t, I promise,” Malcolm chuckles. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

They both pause, an awkward silence falling between them as the joke falls flat. Malcolm grimaces, and Gil grits his teeth to hide a snarl as he thinks of Watkins again, before they shake it off. Gil reaches out, clapping Malcolm on the shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze before heading back into the crime scene.

  
  


He focuses on the case, the bodies, the scene. It isn’t easy, but the familiar rhythms of work help him keep his worries about Malcolm at the back of his mind. JT and Dani both cast him a _look_ when he walks back inside, and he smiles at their concern. 

“He’s fine. Meds are giving him some problems,” he explains. Whether they buy it or have their own suspicions, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t dwell on it. They’re both detectives, they can put two and two together just as well as he can, but he’s not going to help them do it.

It’s a messy scene, and the crime scene techs find more blood, more evidence that makes things even more interesting, and soon Gil is fully invested and nearly forgets Malcolm is waiting outside altogether. He’s deep in conversation with Edrisa when his phone pings an alert for an incoming text. He ignores it, but when it’s followed closely by a second, he gives Edrisa an apologetic look and pulls up the messages. They’re both from Bright, and he curses silently, remembering then the kid is still outside.

> _Made appt. with dr. in 1 hour. $$$ comes in handy. Car is on the way._

  


> _Will come to precinct when done_

Gil’s heart starts to beat a little faster. He shoots back a quick reply.

> _Okay. Let me know if you need anything._

He wants to say so much more. He wants to offer to go with, to at least drive him. He can easily leave the scene in JT and Dani’s hands. He almost goes out to offer. But something stops him. He’s so uncertain, has no idea how to give Malcolm the help he needs. He isn’t even sure if Malcolm _needs_ help. Maybe he’d rather do this alone? He sends one more text, and hopes that Malcolm will answer honestly.

> _Do you want me to drive you?_

There’s no immediate response, and he turns his attention back to Edrisa with another apology and a ‘please continue.’ After what feels like ages, but is barely more than a minute, a reply comes through. He glances quickly down and sees the short reply.

> _No, but thanks._

Gil pockets his phone. He knows his focus will be shot and spares a moment to be grateful that Edrisa writes extremely detailed reports and that whatever she tells him on scene is certain to be included. He does his best to give her the attention she deserves, but his mind continues to wander back to Bright. He can’t help but worry, and wonder if he should have insisted on going with him, wonder if there is anything else he should have done.

The problem is, there is nothing he can do. No way to protect Malcolm from what he already failed to keep him from in the first place. No way to make it all go away. What’s done is done. All he can do is wait, and worry.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! If you are enjoying this fic, love Prodigal Son, and are 18+, I'd love for you to come hang out on the brand new [Discord Server](https://discord.gg/6ytNM9jDBf) that SomeRainMustFall and I started! It is open to all ship-positive, kink-positive people who are looking for a space to chat, get to know, and enjoy the show with other fans in a safe and positive environment!


End file.
